Bet You'll Marry Me by Darlene Panzera

this is your home .”
    â€œMy home seems a bit empty.” Patrick slouched forward. “Lately, I don’t even know what it is I’m working for.”
    â€œFor this .” Jenny swept her hand toward the rich sun-gold meadows, pine-scented evergreens, and granite peaks stretching into a vibrant finger-painted sky. “We work for this.”
    â€œIt’s not enough. I want something more.”
    What more was there? She didn’t understand.
    â€œFrom now on, home will be wherever I hang my hat.” A sudden gleam entered Patrick’s eyes. “I want to enjoy life, not work so hard I don’t know what day it is.”
    â€œHere, here!” said Wayne, lifting his mug in a toast.
    â€œI want to wake each morning with something to look forward to,” Patrick continued, “and go to bed each night with someone to keep me warm.”
    â€œHere, here!” the others at the table chorused.
    Jenny’s throat tightened. She thought of all the childhood memories they’d shared. Their float trips down the river. Their forts in the woods. The rope swing they used to jump into the lake. How could he just pick up and leave? If Patrick wanted someone to warm his bed at night, why didn’t he just get a dog?
    Drat! A tear spilled over the rim of her left eye. She hoped no one would notice, but when she wiped her cheek with her hand, she saw someone did notice. Double drat! Nick Chandler noticed everything.
    She turned her head, spotted the large smoking tray in Billie’s hands, and stifled a groan. Could the night get any worse? Jenny glanced around at the others, her stomach clenched, and braced for the next wave of disaster.
    Patrick’s jaw dropped. “What are we having?”
    â€œCharcoal, by the looks of it,” said Frank with a sneer.
    â€œIt’s a—a roast.” Billie set the tray down on the table. “It’s just a little . . . well done.”
    â€œOverdone,” Wayne amended. “Where did you go to culinary school?”
    â€œI didn’t,” Billie said, and bit her lip.
    Wayne arched his brow. “Then how did you learn to cook such a mouth-watering piece of . . . uh . . . whatever it is?”
    The men laughed and Jenny looked past Billie’s hard-nosed expression to the wounded look in her eyes.
    Jenny knew that look. It was the same look she’d seen in the mirror after she’d been laughed at, ridiculed , by the men who’d placed bets at the Bets and Burgers Café six years before.
    First there had been one laugh. Then another. Followed by two more until the laughter joined together like a thunderous stampede. Around and around it went, racing from one end of the room to the other, grating on her nerves and devouring every shred of self-confidence she’d ever possessed.
    â€œ Stop! It’s not Billie’s fault.” She choked on her words and caught a surprised look from Wayne. “I think the temperature gauge on the oven is broken.”
    Billie stared at her. Jenny stared back, but instead of the young woman’s difference in size and appearance, all she saw was herself.
    Maybe it was because Patrick’s announcement had left her vulnerable. Or perhaps it was her mind playing tricks on her. All she knew, at that moment, was that she and Billie were the same .
    N ICK ROSE AT four A.M. and discovered an urgent e-mail message from the previous day on his computer. Ten seconds later, he had his vice president at N.L.C. Industries on the phone.
    â€œVic Lucarelli called,” said Rob. “He’s not happy you and Billie took off. He thinks you’re hiding her—trying to get her out of the country or something.”
    Nick’s jaw clenched as he pictured the ruthless casino owner in his head. Wispy black hair, tanned features, beady dark eyes—-the man was exactly the type one would expect to meet in a back alley. Why his sister thought she